No such thing as a mere trifle

What constitutes the perfect trifle? Is jelly the most controversial ingredient, and is it (please, God, no) really a class issue?

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A magnificent trifle
A magnificent trifle. Photograph: David Sillitoe

Are there any desserts more likely to cause controversy than the trifle? It's a dish which is vastly more than the sum of its contentious parts, with the inclusion of each layer often hotly contested in households all over the country. The issue of most import is – should it, or should it not contain jelly?

A trifle can be an elegant yet indulgent affair, its pure, creamy facade hiding the rich, boozy delights within. It can also be the most vulgar of creatures – a garish, show-offy, child pleasing concoction topped with hundreds and thousands, or worse, the pieces of foul tasting angelica and sticky glace cherries beloved of 1970s hostesses.

It is a dessert which has never gone completely out of fashion, perhaps due to its adaptability. This virtue however lays it open to the fickle, who will dictate how it should be dressed or how it should be reinvented to make it voguish. Its enduring popularity (surviving the vagaries of both class and fashion) may be due to the fact that it's probably one of the easiest desserts to prepare - apart from the custard it simply involves assembling what one has to hand before leaving the glorious whole to set and sit seductively in the fridge until it can be brought out in triumph.

As it has been part of our food landscape for so long, it's not surprising that so many recipes for it exist, from the secret family Christmas recipe handed down through the generations to a new take by a food writer or chef keen to include it in their latest book. Like everything else, it has become a victim of commercialisation.

So what constitutes the perfect trifle? I like the sound of some of the early recipes. Trifles were first mentioned in print in the 16th century when they were simply flavoured fools or syllabubs – I am particularly charmed by the combination of rosewater and ginger in T Dawson's The Good Huswife's Jewell from 1596.

It wasn't until 1751 that the first recorded marriage between sponge, alcohol (the 'tipsy cake' comprising soaked Naples biscuits, macaroons and ratafia cakes also introduced the almond note so common today) and syllabub topping occurred, courtesy of Hannah Glasse, although bread soaked versions do appear earlier. She also introduces the notion of jelly, but as a possible garnish, presumably moulded into small decorative shapes or quenelles, so at this stage at least, fruit and jelly were not integral to the dish.

So when considering the composite ingredients, what do the experts have to say? Mary Norwak, in her excellent English Puddings offers up several versions which span the centuries, none of which include jelly. Compare with the greatly respected food writers Alan Davidson and Helen Seberi whose entire book on the subject has just been reissued by Prospect Books. They meticulously trace the evolution of trifle and do not balk at adding jelly or anything else they fancy to their more contemporary recipes; such frivolity led to gentle rebukes from some of their readers.

In her article on the subject Bee Wilson makes the claim that the inclusion of jelly is a class issue – the posher you are, the less jelly you are likely to include, unless, like Nigella, you are so posh it simply doesn't matter what you do. I would argue that it's an age thing, and that a properly made jelly (especially a particularly alcoholic one), should not be dismissed out of hand.

Heston Blumenthal certainly doesn't turn his nose up at jelly. In his quest for the perfect trifle, he throws everything into the bowl - a base of pureed sponge fingers and amaretti soaked in sherry, then strawberry jelly, black olive puree, caraway biscuits, saffron custard, mille feuille pastry for extra crunch, a starch-thickened cream and lurid decorations including homemade comfits and the hated angelica.

My own recipe comes courtesy of an octogenarian friend, who swears it has been passed down through her family, but which bears an uncanny resemblance to Constance Spry's version. It is, simply, sponge fingers sandwiched together with jam (I favour pear or raspberry), interspersed with amaretti soaked in as much sweet sherry as they'll absorb, followed by a thick layer of egg-rich, vanilla-infused custard, topped with lightly sweetened double cream and toasted flaked almonds. For me, that's the perfect combination of taste and texture.

Finally, a word on fruit – you will notice my favourite recipe excludes this, although I am not completely averse. As a child, I used to love my grandmother's version which usually contained tinned clementines or fruit cocktail, suspended in a Rowntree's jelly – but I was probably more interested in the kick of sherry which she neglected to omit. My mother has on occasion used pineapple to good effect, and I have tried raspberries too, but on balance, like jelly, I prefer to leave it out.

So, what do you put in your trifle - does anything go, or do you follow familial or cultural tradition? Is jelly really the most controversial ingredient, and is it (please, God, no) really a class issue?

Should trifle contain jelly?

  62%
Yes
  38%
No

This poll is now closed

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